


Earbuds, Not Just for Hearing

by otenma



Series: Not Just For X [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Dean freaking out, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, Smut, Sounding, Top Sam, Uncertain John, attempted comfort, inappropriate use of earbuds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 16:50:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2236359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otenma/pseuds/otenma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam noticed that Dean likes a certain thing, and takes it to the next level. John joins. There may or may not be angst (there is totally angst).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Earbuds, Not Just for Hearing

**Author's Note:**

> there seems to be plot developing in my porn.

They were squatting this time, a falling-apart house instead of a cheap motel. They'd been outed as frauds by a shifter and were laying low--Dean had killed the bastard, but it didn't change the fact that they had a bunch of cops out looking for them.

Sam was the one delegated to supply runs, since the police had never been involved with him directly. He hits up a drugstore for some essentials, toothpaste and whatnot, but he gets stuck in the condom section, where he finds a bottle of actual lube. He tosses it in the basket.

He pulls into the house's garage and throws the tarp over the Impala after getting all of the bags, heaving everything into the kitchen in one trip.

Dean and John are at the beat-up dining room table, cleaning guns. The first thing his brother does is put down the rod and rag and stride into the kitchen, rifling through the bags.

He sticks his head all the way in the last bag, coming up with his eyes all big. "Where's the pie?"

Sam exhales through his nose. "I knew I forgot something."

"Well go back!"

"It's a two-hour drive!"

"Boys," John calls from the table, and Dean relents, squaring his shoulders and returning to the guns after snatching a bag of gummy bears and informing Sam they were his now.

Sam sorts things out, putting the food in the broken fridge to keep it away from animals, everything else on the counter. When he finishes, he picks up the bottle of lube and plunks it on the table in front of Dean, who stares at it a moment before registering what it is and blushing furiously. "Jesus, Sammy. That is not pie."

"What? We couldn't use gun oil forever."

"Damn straight," their father mutters, and he's got an actual almost-smile on his face. "That stuff's expensive."

Dean promply focuses all of his attention on the guns, ignoring them both.

Sam, however, doesn't miss the way his brother's eyes travel to the lube every few minutes.

When all the guns are clean, knives sharpened, salt rounds made and everything organized and put away with military efficiency, Dean spends the rest of the day under the Impala, tinkering with his baby. Sam researches possible leads on a new case on his laptop, and John buries his nose in his journal, making notes once in a while.

That night, Dean's nervous. He doesn't say anything, but his jokes are more forced, his posture is less open, and he keeps touching the side of his mouth. He and Sam share a room upstairs, the only one with an unbroken bed. Dean's sleeping bag is rolled out on the floor but he hasn't slept on it once, preferring instead to sprawl out next to his brother. It warms Sam to know that Dean wants to be closer, but tonight he could tear out his own hair with the way his brother tosses and turns.

When Dean huffs and shifts for the thousanth time, Sam grabs him by the back of the neck and hauls him into the crook of Sam's shoulder. "Will you chill out?"

Dean settles, but it's not long before he's twisting around again, and Sam rolls his eyes and props himself up one elbow so he can stare his big brother down. "Okay man, I wanna get to sleep at some point tonight so...talk."

His brother mumbles something about _feelings_ and _soap operas_.

Sam snorts. "Don't give me that, come on. You slept fine yesterday."

Dean crosses his arms and hunches his shoulders, looking away as he says something under his breath.

"What?"

Dean pegs him with a hard stare. "That was _before_ you brought home that stupid crap from the store!"

For a minute, Sam doesn't know what he's talking about. "This is about the lube?"

"Jeez, would you stop _saying_ it?"

"I got it for you! Gun oil works fine but it's not exactly ideal--"

Dean moves his knees together, just a fraction, but Sam catches it, and everything clicks--the way Dean's hunched in on himself, how he looks away from his brother.

He's scared.

"Dean."

Dean doesn't answer, so Sam falls onto his brother's chest with a _whoomph_ and rests his cheek against his brother's pounding heart, looking up at him. "I didn't buy it to do...that. I mean, not if you don't want to."

"I don't."

"Okay," he says quickly, placating. "Okay, that's fine. You, um. But you'll let me know? If you change your mind?"

Sam feels very young all of a sudden, but it's what Dean needs to hear--his kid brother acting like a kid brother, something that hasn't happened for a while. Dean slings an arm around Sam's back, hugging him close, and buries his hands in that stupid hair. "You gotta cut this at some point. Pretty soon it'll be long enough to braid."

Sam laughs and throws a leg over Dean's, covering as much of his brother as he can, and they fall asleep like that, tangled in each other's arms.

The next day finds Sam blinking awake to the rise and fall of Dean's chest, still breathing deeply in sleep. His watch says 6:06 AM, and he's about to groan and shut his eyes again when he sees it.

Dean's got morning wood.

Sam licks his lips and carefully gets off of his brother, levering himself up and running downstairs to grab the lube. He passes his father's sleeping form on the living room couch, but the man doesn't even budge. Alright then.

Back in their room, Sam rustles through his laptop bag as quietly as he can, finding what he needs and getting things mostly ready before crawling over his brother and pulling Dean's boxers up and over his erection. It's fully hard, and Sam takes the rare chance to get close without his brother going all weird on him--he doesn't touch, just looks, counting the freckles, memorizing the way the foreskin pulls back and forth just a little with every twitch. Dean inhales and throws an arm over his face--a well of precome peeks out of the slit, glistening in the daylight. Sam tracks it as it spills over and down the vein running along the underside of his brother's cock.

He darts forward and swipes it up with his tongue before it can disappear into the thatch of pubic hair at the base.

Dean moans awake, eyes fluttering open--he looks down to see his brother between his legs, licking a hot, wet trail up his cock. His moan cuts off into a yelp. "Sammy?" He bolts to a sitting position, but Sam grips his legs, preventing him from moving, and tastes him again.

"W-what're you--ah--doing?"

Sam's cock pulses at the uncertainty in Dean's voice. He closes his lips around the tip of Dean's cock and swirls his tongue around it, catching his teeth barely on the foreskin. Dean's breath hitches, hips giving a tiny thrust into Sam's mouth. He pulls away and stares up at his brother. "I've been wanting to do this for a while."

Dean can't believe it. Sammy, _his_ Sammy, wants to do something like this...for him? "Why?" he asks.

Sam arrows his tongue into Dean's slit before he answers with a shrug. "Because."

It's clear his big brother has difficulty wrapping his head around that response, staring down at Sam with wide, disbelieving eyes. It occurs to him that Dean perhaps didn't realize this was always, _always_ about him. Or maybe he did, and that's why he's so damn uncomfortable about it.

The thought breaks Sam's heart a little. He suckles the head of Dean's cock to take his mind off of it, laves his tongue down the shaft, takes Dean in as far as he can without gagging.

But it's not enough, and he knows it. Dean's panting and moaning takes on a frustrated note, but he won't ask Sam for what he wants--if Sam understands anything about his brother, it's that Dean doesn't do things for himself.

So Sam will just have to do them for him.

"Come here, Dean," he says, getting up and guiding his brother to sit on the edge of the bed, feet planted firmly on the dingy carpet. Sam gathers his supplies from the mattress behind his brother and puts them next to him, within arm's reach. Dean looks over.

"This is straight-up insulting. I do not sound that bad," Dean pouts, holding up the strand of earbuds.

Sam chuckles and gets on his knees between his brother's, spready Dean's legs nice and wide. "That's not what I'm using them for."

Dean frowns at the earbuds a moment. "Then I'm confused."

Sam slips his fingernail along Dean's slit, elliciting a hiss from his brother. He focuses there, rubbing it around under the pad of his finger, pressing slightly. Dean leans back on his hands and presses his hips up, biting his bottom lip the way he does when things get overwhelming. Sam looks up at his brother, and Dean quails inside.

"You like playing with your slit. You love it."

Dean groans as Sam edges his nail along it again. "Ye-yeah, so?"

Sam sucks on the head, running his tongue against the slit good and hard, and breaks away with a soft pop. "So we're gonna play with it."

He leaves his brother to puzzle it out and picks up the earbuds, pinching the middle and folding it, then folding it again. He's never done this before, but he doesn't let that mar his confidence--or his arousal. He'd already taken precautions, sterilizing the cables to get rid of any bacteria, and the thought of stuffing his brother's cock full has him breathing deeply through his nose to control himself. He can't rush this.

When Sam has the earbud cable folded, audio jack and buds at one end, he picks up the lube.

"S...Sammy?" Dean asks, flushing. Sam looks up but he brother doesn't meet his eyes, just rolls his shoulders and sort of shrinks into himself.

Sam strokes Dean's thigh. Dean startles a little at the contact but Sam just keeps it up until he heaves a shuddering sigh and hangs his head. "Talk to me," Sam urges.

"I'm gonna need the blindfold," Dean admits, like it's a weakness. Maybe it is, but Sam doesn't blame him for it, just smiles and goes to his bag, pulling out a tie. He secures it around Dean's head and can feel the change in his brother instantly, the way his brother's shoulders come down, how let releases his lip.

Amazing.

Sam gives him a soft, reassuring kiss and moves back between his knees, taking up the earbuds from where he'd draped them over Dean's leg and squirting a generous amount of lube over them, slicking up the entire length of it--a good ten inches, plenty of room to work with.

"Are you ready?"

Dean hesitates, but nods, and Sam rubs his lubed index finger over his brother's slit--another blurt of precome oozes out, Dean's stomach tightening, and that gives Sam the sign he needed. Dean might be freaked out but he's also really, really excited.

Sam sets the pinched end of the cables to Dean's urethra and nudges it inside, going slow and gentle. Dean hisses in and whines in his throat, fisting the bedding. "Shh," Sam tells him. "We can go as slow as you need to."

The cables go inside with less resistance than Sam expected, and Sam just sort of holds the rest of it upright, giving the barest pressure, and bit by bit Dean takes it.

In less than a minute they're three inches in. Dean's huffing and keening, and Sam runs his fingertip around the slit, full of cables, and gives his brother a few soft strokes. "You're doing great. You should see how hot you look."

"Shut up," Dean growls.

Sam gets back to business, and Dean takes another inch. Another. They're six inches inside, and still have plenty to go. Dean's breath comes in gasping shudders, mewls breaking out whenever Sam stops to pump his cock. Sam can see his pulse hammering away in his neck and it turns him on so much to see his brother _enjoying_ this.

"Almost there," Sam tells him.

The last inches slide in easier than the first, and then it's just the audio jack and earbuds hanging out of Dean's cock like some abstract technology flower. His slit is wide open and red, precome and lube making everything shiny.

"Holy shit," Dean keens, letting his head fall back. "Holy shit, holy shit."

Sam traces his urethra from the outside, nail catching on little bumps and divets from the cables. "I can see them," Sam tells him. "Oh my God, I can see all of them. Your cock is stretched totally full, I can actually count each cable."

Dean lets his brother takes his hand and guide it to his cock, thrusting when Sam closed his hand around it. "Can you feel it?" Sam asks, pressing Dean's palm against the underside of his cock. "From the outside, can you feel it?"

And _Oh, God,_ Dean _can_.

Sam tongues the audio jack and earbuds, making them clack together and move and it sends jolts of pleasure all the way through Dean's cock and right to his balls, he swears to God.

Dean feels the air move as Sam gets up. "Where're you goin?" Dean asks.

"I'll be right back."

Sam disappears. Dean considers taking off the blindfold but...he kind of likes it on. It makes him feel safe. Covered.

Downstairs, John is up and rustling through the cabinets for booze. Sam plucks a beer out of his hand and puts it back--John is about to tell him off but the way his son's eyes gleam stops him. "What's goin' on, son?"

Sam grins and jerks his head to the side. "Come on."

John follows his son up the stairs, wondering what the hell Sammy's got into this time. Sam taps his finger against his lips once they reach the room his boys took, and John nods, wondering what the hell's going on.

Sam opens the door.

John's jaw drops.

Dean, blindfolded and naked and beautiful, leans back on one hand, the other pumping his cock in soft, questing strokes. John's mouth goes dry at the sight and Sam nudges him, padding over to his brother and tipping his face up, tracing the lines of his cheekbones, the bow of his lips.

Seeing his son so open...it's foreign. Not even when Dean and he had gotten off together weeks ago with Sam had Dean been this easy with himself, with the situation. With anything.

John coughs, and the way Dean's back straightens, the way his shoulders square off, the way his lips press together into a hard line...

It breaks his heart.

For the first time since John watched Mary die, he sees his son as something other than a soldier.

He's about to turn and leave when Sam calls out. "Hey. Come over here."

Dean closes his legs a little. "It's okay," he tells his brother, wrapping his hand around Dean's cock and giving it a couple of tugs. Their father approaches awkwardly, for once looking like he has no idea what to do--Sam instructs him to sit next to Dean, and he does.

Sam pulls Dean standing by his wrist--Dean moans, hand reaching down to steady his bobbing cock. "Don't worry, you're sitting right back down again. Here." Sam helps Dean sit.

Right on John's lap.

"Uh..." Dean's dick is telling him to sit the fuck down though, and it wins over his trepidation. John leans back, accomodating his son's weight--Dean's heavy, and tense. When Sam pushes John's legs open he complies, if only because he doesn't know what the hell else to do.

"Dean," Sam says. "Open up."

Dean swallows and obeys, hooking his knees around John's thighs--it spreads him open good and wide, balls hanging heavy over the crotch of John's jeans. Damn it, he should've opened them up. John wraps his arms around Dean's chest to steady him, and looks down.

"What the hell is that?"

Dean's got _things_ poking out of his cock. Are they...is something _inside_ it?

"Earbuds cables," Sam says, clipped and tight. His son's gone tense under him, and Sam's glaring, so John pushes down the unsettling kinkiness of his two boys and runs a blunt finger over the pile of whatever they are.

The noise Dean makes is downright _sinful_.

His son's back arches, looking for more, and John complies, curling his hand around Dean's cock and touching, stroking, feeling--there are little bumps of something on the underside, and Sam tells him it's the cables stuffed down Dean's slit.

Sam separates each doodad and presses them down, spreading apart Dean's slit and making his brother mewl and writhe in John's lap. He leans down and flicks his tongue over the tiny stretched-open entrance and Dean bucks. "He's gonna come like this, dad," Sam informs them both. "Right, Dean?"

Dean nods, teeth clamping down on his lip.

John tunnels his son's cock, quick and soft, tightening his hold when Dean clenches down on his wrist and begs, "More." Sam bows his head and concentrates on the glans, toying with the earbuds and audio jack, pressing into the slit, suckling and licking until Dean's head falls back--John mouths along Dean's jaw, feeling the stubble against his lips.

It strikes John how grown-up his boys are.

Sam runs two fingers behind Dean's balls, rubbing at his hole.

"Sammy--"

"Not unless you say so," Sam assures him. "Just playing."

He circles Dean's hole, presses against his perenium, all while laving attention on Dean's cock. John touches his son's chest, ghosts a thumb over one nipple and Dean keens and presses into the touch, so he gives his son more, tweaking and twisting and grazing.

Dean's balls draw up towards his body. His stomach goes tight, his head goes fuzzy.

"Let go," Sam orders gently, and sucks him down again.

Dean comes powerfully--it's not a spurt so much a steady pump, come overflowing from his slit, over the cables and earbuds, down his cock. John milks him through it, one hand against Dean's heart, while Sam massages his ass watching the fountain of come.

"Good," Sam tells him. "You're good. You're doing so good, Dean."

The sound Dean lets out might be a moan, it might be half a sob, but no one draws attention to it. John lets his son shudder and hitch against him, boneless, but come still leaks out, all over John's knuckles. "Easy, son," he says against Dean's ear. "Just let it all out, we've got you."

With one final thrust, Dean sags against his father, spent.

Sam pulls the cable out gently, before Dean softens completely. He and John both stare, awed, as ten inches of folded cable ease out of Dean's red cock, slimy with come and lube. The end of it plops out with a gasping twitch from Dean, and then it's over.

Dean shivers at the loss, feeling oversensitive. Overwhelmed. Sam kisses the inside of his hip, burying his face against Dean's sweat-soaked skin. "That was amazing."

The watery, crooked smile Dean gifts him with melts Sam to pieces. "Y-yeah?"

Sam reaches for the blindfold. "You should've seen it."

Dean stops Sam before he can pull it off. "Leave it," he mutters, turning away, self-conscious once again.

A heavy sigh rushes out of Sam, but he listens, settling instead for touching his brother's face, skimming the backs of his knuckles over Dean's cheekbones, holding the back of his neck the way he likes. Sam taps their foreheads together and gets up. "I'm gonna make some coffee."

John and Dean shift around, but Sam waves them to stop. "No, you guys hang here for a while. It'll take some time to make anyway without a real stove."

When Sam leaves, awkwardness permeates throughout the room. Dean and John have no idea how to act with each other without Sam easing the way, and it shows. Dean wriggles in John's lap, aiming to get his feet under him so he can get up, but John wraps his other arm around his son, urging him to stay in place.

"Dad, I gotta get some clothes on."

"You used to sleep with us," John says over him. "Your mother and me."

Dean clicks his mouth shut and exhales. "Yeah, I uh...I remember."

His father reaches up and cards through Dean's hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. Dean lets out a small, surprised hum, but John doesn't stop. "She used to do this. It helped you sleep."

John feels his son hunch against him. Dean's chest feels tight, like someone's stepping on it. The tightness spreads up, into his throat, burning through his face.

"We are so not bringin' her into this," Dean says, tearing away the blindfold and climbing off of his father's lap. He doesn't look at John once as he gathers up his boxers from the bed. "This whole thing is fucked. We're fucked. Shit, I dunno what the hell I was thinking."

He storms into the bathroom and slams the door on John's shout of protest, sliding down to the grimy tile and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

He's _not_ crying.

Shit shit shit.

What the fuck did he _do_?

Castiel wants to reach down and grip Dean's shoulder, tell him it'll all be okay, but he can't. Dean can't see him, can't feel him, doesn't even know about him yet.

So the angel perches on the tub beside him and watches, the way he always does, and hopes somehow, through time and space, that the Dean on the floor takes comfort in it. 


End file.
